Habit
by JJJPK
Summary: Bruce keeps getting banged up on missions and Diana ends up patching him up. It gives her a near heart attack every time it happens, but what she doesn't know, is that he actually likes it! Or, the four times Bruce came back from missions injured and the one time he didn't.
1. Knife to the hand

**What up what up? I come, bearing more Bruce hurt fanfics!**

The first time it happened was on a searing night in August. The heat shimmered above Gotham like an iridescent cloak. If there was any grass to be found, (and patches of it were always few and far between) it was pale and dry, like tiny brittle banners of surrender. Of course, none of this phased the Dark Knight, whose heat regulated suit kept him feeling like it was a clement spring day. He watched with rapt interest as a group of teenagers, waiting to exchange a load of heroine with a big dog drug lord, straggled into the meetup spot. He'd been tracking this man for months, and the fact that he would soon have an opportunity to lay hands on him was particularly exciting. As soon as the drug lord and his gang of two henchmen arrived, Batman launched himself at the group. Perhaps it was an ill advised move, because he didn't take as much care to ensure an element of surprise. By the time he knocked out the first kid, the other four people in the alley were already aware of him. But he threw the thugs into confusion by setting off a smoke bomb and subsequently made quick work of the remaining teen and henchmen. The last person left was the drug lord himself and Bruce lunged to put him in a choke hold when he felt a shot of pain pulse through his left hand. He didn't let it break the flow of his movement and finished choking the supply of blood to the criminal's brain, before finally realizing what had happened.

"D*mn it!" He muttered, when he looked down and saw that a small knife had gone clean through his gloved hand. He held his hand above his head and began sprinting towards the tumbler. Next he commed the Watchtower.

"Batman, this is Flash."

"Flash, could you please let Gorden know of the situation and coordinates of these guys? He's going to have to finish the rest of this job."

"Sure. You okay Bats?"

"Fine. Something just came up unexpectedly. Over." He had reached the tumbler by now and was speeding towards the Watchtower. It was a little difficult driving with a knife in his hand, to say the least. But he made it to the Watchtower in good time and headed for the infirmary, trying to keep his hand elevated. For such a small wound it certainly was bleeding uncontrollably. When he reached the infirmary he was annoyed to see Diana rummaging in a cabinet.

"What's wrong with you?" He growled. She spun around, surprised to see Batman there, he almost never came to the infirmary unless he could help it.

"I was just grabbing some Ibuprofen for ..." but she stopped abruptly when she saw his hand above his head and the little puddle of blood that was fast forming below him. "Bruce!?"

"What? It's just a scratch. That b*stard Ronnoco got so close he couldn't have missed if he'd tried." She would have wanted to tease him about his obvious embarrassment that he'd been outmaneuvered by a common mobster if she hadn't heard the pain written clearly in his voice.

"Alright, let me help you."

"I don't need help." He ground out through clenched teeth, as he yanked the knife out of his hand. This caused a new shock of pain to throb down his entire arm. Now that he had finally made it to the Watchtower it started to dawn on him just how intense the sensation was. It was iridescent like the heat outside, a living, moving thing that pulsated with its own will. Strangely, it was little wounds like this that always seemed to hurt the most. There was usually little to no adrenaline coursing through the system as there often would be with a big traumatic injury. It was like you were too alert to ignore it. They weren't ever serious enough to trigger a fight or flight response, but they sure hurt like h*ll.

"Don't be ridiculous." Wonder Woman stated crossly, as she quickly pulled off his gauntlet. Her brow furrowed as she stared at the small wound, bleeding unceasingly. "Bruce, this is bad. He hit an artery."

"Of course he did, Captain Obvious." She rolled her eyes but ran over to the cabinet and returned with a cloth, needle, and sutures.

"Keep your hand up and press this cloth to your palm, while I stitch the back. It's such a narrow wound that I can't really pack it." So he sat there enduring her ministrations and trying hard not to wince. The only sound for a while was her soft breathing, his slightly less steady breathing, and the occasional snip snip of her scissors after she tied off one of the stitches. She broke the silence by commenting wryly,

"If this is a scratch I'd hate to see a serious injury."

"Well, not everyone can be an invincible goddess, Princess." He sounded slightly hurt and she felt ashamed. He was right. Men were so weak and fragile and it filled her with a kind of awe to realize what _this_ man did, every day. He flirted with mortality like one of his many lovers. He was a Superhero just like the rest of them, and perhaps more so, because he was endowed with no more than his brains and his fists, and of course, his incredible good looks. Had that thought really just crossed her mind? "Are you gonna stop staring at me and stitch up my palm or do I have to do it myself?" His words jolted her out of her trance and she muttered,

"Oh yeah, sorry." She could feel heat creeping into her cheeks as he smirked at her. She hurried through the task at hand and tried to sound business like once she'd finished. "Alright, just keep your hand elevated and the artery should close on its own in a couple of hours.

"Gee, thanks, Doctor Diana." She rolled her eyes.

"Yeah well, like you said, we can't all be perfect."

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	2. Concussion

This time it was cold. Really cold. The pavement felt hot it was so freaking cold. Batman stood propped up against a dumpster, trying hard to remember his own name. The blinding, whirling snow clung to, and melted on his armor, but he didn't feel it. One thing he _did_ know, was that Alfred was out of town, and it was Christmas Eve, or was it Christmas Day? Darn Holiday, didn't matter. Alfred was out and that was all that mattered. So where was he going to go? And why exactly did he need to go anyway? A jarring stab of pain, that felt like his head was being torn apart quickly alerted him that he must've injured his head. Concussion. He'd had them countless times, this really shouldn't be a problem. Get up you weakling! He tried to force himself up, but everything felt wrong. Really, _Really,_ wrong. The world lurched like he hadn't found his land legs yet. His stomach flipped sickeningly and next thing he knew he was retching bile onto the concrete. Good thing it had been a while since he'd last eaten. Then there was a butterfly-inducing, stomach-dropping moment of struggling with gravity. Gravity won. He found himself on all fours, on the street, like a dog. But where was the car? Where was Alfred? It was all too confusing. Taking way too much effort to think. Concrete actually seemed like it might be comfortable?

Diana hurried down the street, hugging her green wool pea coat more tightly around her. She had spent the evening in a tolerably agreeable manner, doing research in a deserted little coffee shop. It was deserted, she supposed, because it was a Holiday of some sort here. She couldn't quite recall which, but maybe it also explained the reason the barista had seemed so dejected. She certainly liked all the decorations around the city though, the twinkling white lights and evergreen branches tied with red bows. It was oh, what was the word? Festive. As nice as it all was though, it was late and she wanted to get to her nice, cozy little apartment, and snuggle into bed. If she didn't get sent on a mission first, of course. So she made a rash decision (one that caused her to take even longer to get to bed) and took a shortcut through an alleyway. She had almost reached the end, where there were a couple of dumpsters, when she nearly tripped over something. Then it _moved_ and she jumped a few feet back, startled but ready to take on whatever the thing was. But the movement was not repeated and as the seconds ticked by she peered more carefully into the dark shadows and realized that it was a body, sprawled across the cement. Cautiously, she knelt next to the prone form and flipped it over. She couldn't repress a little gasp of surprise when she realized who it was. . .the Bat vigilante.

"Bruce" she shook his shoulders, maybe a little too roughly, because this elicited a stifled moan. Then, faintly, she got,

"It's Batman!" In a growl so week that it was completely unintimidating. Her lips quirked despite herself.

"What's wrong _Batman?_ Can't hold your liquor?" It certainly looked that way, what with the pile of vomit a few feet off and the way his words were a thick slur.

"Don't want liquor. . ." He mumbled indistinctly.

"Batman, open your eyes." He looked mildly annoyed to say the least, but his eyes fluttered lazily open and glowered blearily at her through the cowl, which she promptly pulled off. He didn't even protest, which startled her. "How many fingers am I holding up?"

She gave him a peace sign.

"Fou-Two." He noticed her concern and quickly tried to appear less delirious than he was.

"Can you move your feet?" He slowly lifted one foot, then the other. '"Follow my finger with your eyes." He tried to, but his eyes kept veering off in the wrong direction and going vague and fuzzy on him. "This finger, right here." Diana stopped moving her slender finger, trying to give him a chance to re-focus before she began to move it, only more slowly this time. His eyes were still loopy, drugged looking, lids hanging to heavily. "Who's the president?" He was so exhausted. He'd never felt this tired in his life! Why was she still badgering him? She looked vaguely familiar. "What's your name?"

"Bru-Batman." She wanted to feel relieved that he remembered both his names, but he was clearly slipping.

"How old are you?"

"Forty-Two."

"Do you know my name?"

"Should I?" She nodded slowly. "D*mn, I'm sorry. Musta' forgotten. How many dates did we have?"

"None actually, but I'm taking you to my apartment now." Her little smirk was lost on him as his eyelids began fluttering dangerously. "Bruce, you have a concussion." She tried to say it loudly, clearly, so it would grab his attention. For the most part it did, and his eyes drifted open, albeit drunkenly.

"Coulda' told you tha . . ." More slurring. Diana gently lifted him, which caused another disgusted groan to issue from between Bruce's lips. She knew it wasn't advisable to move someone with a head injury, but he seemed relatively lucid, and she knew a thing or two about concussions. This one was no walk in the park, but it could have been worse. Their progress was a little slower than she would have liked, due to the awkward weight in her arms, but they made it to her studio apartment in a decent reasonable of time. Once she reached her door, she shifted him into a semi standing position while fumbling the key into the lock before the door swung open. She readjusted Bruce, who was teetered close to unconsciousness, and gently placed him on her bed. Next she grabbed an icepack from her freezer. Bruce had already passed out, so she laid the icepack beneath his head, as he obviously couldn't hold it himself. Next she wiggled off his boots and gauntlets, and dumped them in a pile on the floor, next to his cowl. She wished she could pry the suit off him to make him more comfortable, but she didn't know how to undo the hidden latches, so he'd just have to suck it up. Not that he was noticing things like that right now anyway. Still, Diana remembered the one time she'd accidentally fallen asleep in a pair of jeans, and she couldn't help but shudder and think that a full suit of Kevlar had to be 100 times worse.

She slipped into the bathroom and got ready for bed, but when she tried to lay down on the couch, she realized sleep just wasn't coming. So she grabbed her laptop, and hunkered down to do some more research. It was a little distracting having the sleeping Bat in the same room. Every now and then he'd shift and moan softly. At about 3:00 A.M. Diana decided it was time to wake him up, just to check and make sure his condition wasn't deteriorating. Bruce's eyes flew open with a start, and the shaking and gentle voice finally registered. Diana? Where the-?

"Bruce, how do you feel?" He stared at her.

"Diana, what's going on here?" He was feeling incredibly groggy, but this was just plain weird, and he didn't need to look like an idiot in front of her of all people!

"I found you lying on the street, you have a concussion." Right. Crap. He didn't even have his wits about him in the _least._ And it made sense now why his head was throbbing.

"And now we're...?"

"In my apartment." She smiled. He didn't even know she had an apartment. He was slipping, must be getting old.

"Right."

"Can you tell me how many fingers I'm holding up?" The lights in the kitchen were hurting his eyes but he could see her four fingers clearly. She seemed relieved when he answered correctly. "And can you follow my finger with your eyes?" Still a little slow for her liking, but much better than his first attempt. "Alright, good job. You can go back to sleep." He really needed to get going. It was clear he'd been crashed here quite a while, and the city needed him. He'd get up in a second. Close his eyes but just rest, for a few more seconds...

Batman's even breathing was lulling her slowly to sleep, and before she knew what had happened, her alarm was going off and it was 6:30 A.M. She stretched, yawned, and wondered a moment why she was so stiff? Oh right, she'd slept on the couch. She glanced over at the bed only to find it empty. Or not quite. In the middle was a yellow sticky note with a sharpie message scrawled across it. "Thanks, I owe you." And there was a little, tiny, bat silhouette. She smiled and muttered to herself,

"Yes Bruce, that makes two."

 **I have had a concussion, so I speak from experience in this chapter! And please, good friend, leave a review. Let me break this down for you, it really is quite simple. If you Follow the story, we're on great terms. If you Favorite the story, we are friends. But if you REVIEW the story, we're homies for life fam! And if you do all three? I shall worship the ground you tread!**


	3. Shot

He felt weak, helpless, and absolutely ridiculous. But more than anything, he felt embarrassed. He was supposed to be fighting the Joker. But instead he was stuck, trapped under a piece of rubble because that son of a b*tch had blow up the freaking wear house a second after he'd exited, and a second too soon for Bruce to make it out. Not to mention he'd been unnaturally slow because he had lost what felt like half his blood from a wound where a big slug had imbedded itself just below his clavicle. An armor piercing slug, mind you. And now he was too weak and helpless to free his chest and legs from the crushing weight. He knew his bones weren't broken, and if he was firing on all cylinders he could have _easily_ removed the rubble. But he was just so weak. And cold, he was really cold. The heat regulation system must be broken or something. The stupidest part of all was that he couldn't staunch the bleeding, because his arms were both trapped. A fine pickle this was!

In the monitor womb, Diana started to get worried when she had no contact from, or visual of Batman for a solid twenty minutes. He should at least be giving some kind of indication of where he was, if he wasn't showing up on one of the monitors. But he hadn't. This lead her to conclude that his comm link had probably been smashed or dropped somewhere. Everyone else was out on other missions, and she felt like she should stay and hold down the fort, but at this rate, finding Bruce was much more important. So she sped out into pre-dawn haze.

Bruce was fighting hard to calm himself. Deep breaths. In...hold...hold...out...in...hold...hold...out. Repeat. He was not dying here on a warehouse floor. He was not letting that happen. But consciousness was starting to become something very elusive, slippery. Slippery like the blood oozing out of his chest. And there wasn't a d*mn thing he could do to stop it. Sticky drop after sticky drop hit the ground, plop! plop! plop! And then he heard a rush of air, and a pair of long, tan, Amazonian legs came into his peripheral vision.

"Alright Batman, just breath, I'll get you out of here in no time." And he was embarrassed to admit, even to himself, just how relieved he was. So he checked the sigh that tried to surface onto his blue lips, and instead forced them to quirk up instead and mutter,

"Sure took you long enough, princess." She rolled her eyes as she lifted the huge piece of rubble like it was nothing.

"Yeah, well 'baby sitting' isn't exactly part of the job description, you know. I was just making sure there was nothing more important to be attended to before I hauled your sorry a** out of here." He couldn't hold back the sigh now, as sweet relief swept through his chest and legs when the rubble tumbled off him. "You know, you're really making a habit of this."

"Of what?" He muttered, letting his eyes slide closed as her voice took him places that were pleasant, weren't choking in pain.

"Making me come and rescue you. And to be honest, I'd say it's a bad habit. One that needs breaking." She had bribed Alfred recently to show her how the latches on the suit worked, and as she talked, she'd been dexterously wiggling the breastplate off.

"Hmm" He murmured noncommittally. Bruce didn't even notice his armor slide off, he was far too cold already. But then there was pain. Shooting burning _agony_. And it should have kept him awake, it really should have. But even though his eyes had shot open when Diana applied pressure to the wound, the darkness was encroaching in a hurry on his field of vision and he was slipping. Diana was talking but she sounded far away.

"Bruce, C'mon, you need to stay with me here!" She scooped him up and began flying back to the Watchtower, all the while pressing his wound as hard as she dared. It made her hand slick with dark, thick blood. It reminded Diana of cherry juice. When they reached the infirmary, so eased him lightly onto one of the medical tables. Perhaps not gently enough however, as he winced. "Sorry." She murmured. "At least you're still alive though." She commented wryly. She quickly cut off his t-shirt and grabbed an antiseptic coated piece of gauze which she stuffed into the wound as deep as it would go. Maybe it was good he was out for this. Oh crap. Not out after all.

Bruce could feel every muscle in his body go taught as the white hot fire screamed through his consciousness and forced him back into reality against his will. He'd been perfectly happy in the gray, hazy place. Now his eyes were wide open and he could see everything. The blinding white lights of the infirmary, Diana's beautiful face leaning down with a look of fierce concentration, and blood, lots and lots of blood. Every breath was a shot of pure anguish. They were coming faster and faster, oh how he longed for them to slow down, give him even a little reprieve, but he couldn't figure out how to make that happen. There was a firm hand on his shoulder, words slowly cutting through the haze of pain. Comfort. A hand carding gently through his hair. Then comprehension.

"Bruce, I need you to breath for me, okay? In...Out..." Diana demonstrated a deep, slow breath. The man who had been hyperventilating gradually followed her lead. "That's it. Good job. Keep it up. In...Out..." She kept chanting it, like a mantra, as she gently began easing a pair of tweezers into the wound. She felt Bruce tense and a breath catch in his throat. She squeezed his shoulder a little harder. "You're doing great, almost there." She saw him biting his lip till he drew blood and she knew it was all he could do to keep from screaming. The blood made it hard to get a good grip on the slug, but she eventually managed it, and dropped it onto the table with a clink. Next she needed to stitch the wound, dress the wound. Diana went into auto pilot. As she tied the last stitch, surveying her work with satisfaction, she saw Bruce, still shaking with cold.

"Are you gonna get me a blanket or something before I freeze to death on this arctic tundra or what?" She laughed, but internally scolded herself for not grabbing him one sooner.

"I'll be right back." She returned with a blanket and also a pint of O Negative blood. Yes, they did have blood in the infirmary fridge at the Watchtower, which was a little creepy, but they were a team of freaking superheroes! Also, everyone knew everyone else's blood type, which wasn't weird at all, it was a necessity of life. She slipped the needle into the back of his elbow and remarked sarcastically,

"Yeah, the blue lipstick really isn't doing it for me. I can't quite put my finger on why, but maybe it doesn't go with your skin tone or something?"

"Sorry it displeases you princess. What do you think of red? Maybe next time I'll have to nab some from the joker."

"Sounds like a plan."

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	4. Broken bone

Bruce really, really hated intergalactic missions, and this one was no different. He wanted nothing more at the moment, than to smell the filthy streets of Gotham and be busting some old fashioned hold up. But instead, it was him, and Diana, on a League mission fighting a bunch of aliens with weird space tasers and some sort of Godzilla spacer machete ax things. He didn't even know anymore. He should technically be enjoying the quality time with Diana but, truth be told he honestly just wasn't. Also, it's not like they were actually doing this _together,_ she was about a football field away and there were about a thousand alien zombie creatures separating them. "Shouldn't be a hard mission at all," Clark had said. Yeah right. And then, for a second, he lost focus and it was fatal. He was watching in horror as some sort of monster aimed a huge missal at Diana, who was busy fending off a mob of aliens. The pain ripped through him like a freight train. Pain, was actually probably way too mild a noun for it. He hit the deck unceremoniously. How had five hundred aliens not descended upon him yet? That's when he realized that Diana was quite close now, and fending them off. How had she-? But all rational thought was gone form that point forward. The only thing left was blinding, white-hot, anguish.

Diana dispatched the last alien with a little too much pleasure and raced toward Bruce. She hadn't seen where he'd been hit, but she'd seen him drop like a rock and feared the worst. Head shot? She dropped to her knees next to him and expelled an unsteady breath when she saw what was wrong. The middle of his right thigh looked like some sort of ground meat. There were shards of bone glinting in the mass of torn muscle. Experienced warrior though she was, Diana felt a little like vomiting at the sight. A scream ripped from his throat, raw, harsh, and animalistic. Diana loathed to move him but this was way beyond something a field dressing could mend and more aliens were approaching. So without a second thought she picked him up and sped towards their jet, parked about half a mile away. She covered the distance in about a minute. The weight in her arms was becoming strangely familiar. What was even stranger though, was that she actually kind of liked that? The door to the jet opened for them and she eased Bruce onto the ground before heading over to the pilot's chair and starting the jet onto the course back home. Besides taking off and landing, the thing piloted itself. They hummed out with a roar and she silently cursed Clark as the field full of victorious aliens faded into a fuzzy blur. Nineteen hours. That's how long it would take for them to make it back. These would probably be some of the worst hours of Bruce's violent life, she realized. She set her jaw and headed back to his side as soon as they were well on their way. His screams hadn't stopped since the time she'd picked him up, she realized with a jolt. She'd never heard Bruce scream before...ever. It was _so_ out of character. He was getting more and more hoarse, his breaths were ragged gasps and his eyes were squeezed shut tightly, tears streaming down his ashen cheeks. Diana moved quickly cutting the Kevlar off and tying a tourniquet about an inch above the wound. Bruce screamed even louder at the sensation and the sound was sickening in the small confines of the jet. Diana tried to stay calm, determined, and asses the situation rationally. She had to clean the woudn to try to prevent an infection, but there was no way she could set the bone, because there was simply no bone to set, only mangled pulp. So she settled for sterilizing it and bandaging it as tightly as she could. This of course elicited more screams, sobs, shaking. When she'd finished, she sat back, exhausted. She was also terrified. Nineteen hours was a long time, and Bruce's odds were dropping with each minute. Why hadn't he passed out by now? She crawled back over to him and muttered,

"Darn your high pain tolerance Bruce!" She slid off the cowl and also started working off the top portion of his armor. This was more than a little difficult, as he was writhing like a worm in a frying pan. When she had the armor half off his body it hit her like a ton of bricks. We have morphine on here you idiot! She ran to the cabinet, tripped on a slick patch of blood, staggered on and practically slammed into the wall, before turning and sprinting back. She gave him two doses. It seemed like a lot, but goodness knew he needed it. There was a devil of a wrestling match to get him still enough to inject the medicine into the back of his elbow, but she managed it alright in the end.

The first thing that came to mind when he opened his eyes was, _I'm doped up on something._ And then,

"Oh, God help!" Bruce Wayne was not a praying man, but the situation truly seemed to necessitate it. There was no adequate verbiage to describe it, in any of the seven languages Bruce was fluent in. None. Everything fell utterly short, even his impressive collection of expletives.

"I take it that means you feel a little rough?" Diana tried to give a smile through the fear.

"Like death actually." He didn't even bother to growl like Batman, it was a weak little whisper. Why was Diana there? He could understand why he was deserving of all the torments of hell, but her? The thought filled him with a wave of panic. "Am I actually...?" He trailed off. He wasn't afraid of death, at least he never had been before, but what if this actually was the afterlife? This for all eternity? And then he was really scared, in fact, more scared than he'd ever been in his life.

"No Bruce, you're fine, I'm here." And there was a hand on his shoulder, and a warm presence next to him. It hurt so much when she eased his head onto her lap, but he resisted the urge to cry out, because she was _there._ It didn't matter now how much he hurt, she would be there. Diana, for her part just really wished he would pass out. The suffering had be be unendurable, because if that much morphine couldn't knock you out, that pain must really be something special. Maybe she could at least try to distract him a little. "I don't know about you but I plan on writing a very strongly worded letter to the White Star line when this is all over."

"Yeah, or just whooping Clark's butt." He grimaced through the pain the words caused to float through his head.

"Well that too," she laughed, it was a hollow sound. "But did you get the reference?" Bruce had made a list of famous movies Diana should watch and the last one she'd knocked out was Titanic.

"Yeah, I did." He gave a ghost of a smile. "How did you like it?"

"Well, the mismanagement of the disaster made me angry, also the way that, at the end, he didn't get on the door with her! There was definitely room for both of them. I just don't understand why they thought that it was only big enough for her." He decided the pain induced by laughing was an acceptable loss, so he did. Or tried to. It was more like choking but whatever. Details.

"Yeah, you and a million other people."

"But I liked the love story. It was sweet."

"Yeah me too." Woah... had he _really_ just said that? Well that was embarrassing. He needed to shut his dopey mouth up, but he couldn't stop now. Talking was soothing, speaking the truth was soothing. It gave him something else to concentrate on other than the...don't think it, don't think it, don't THINK THAT FREAKING WORD AGAIN...pain. Diana gave the most genuine smile she had all day.

"Wow Bruce, I'll make sure the team knows that you ship Jack and Rose."

"Do you realize that came off sounding like a really bad pun?"

"Whatever. I'm still telling them." He tried to register what she'd said, but his leg felt like it was basically gonna fall off in a second. That would probably be a good thing at this point. Anything to just make it _stop._

"It hurts. Diana, help me!" There went another truth bomb and the explosion pulsed through the silent cabin. He didn't have to look to know she was wearing a stunned expression. But she really shouldn't be. She of all people should know that the Batman experienced pain, despite how much he pretended he didn't. But he was beyond all that now. He just needed this to _stop,_ and preferably right _now._ Diana was indeed surprised. Had Bruce just called her Diana? And was he _pleading_ with her, _begging_ her for something she couldn't give? She could only respond by pulling his upper body into a tight hug. His arms snaked around her neck and his grip was tight even for the Amazonian.

"You're doing great, we'll be there soon." She rubbed soothing circles on his back.

"I love you." He felt her tense. Crap. Crap. Crap. He really REALLY hated morphine. He'd screwed up big. He wished she'd just left him screaming on the floor instead of making these embarrassing confessions tumble from his lips. "Sorry."

"No, you're fine." And that was it. Geez, way to leave a guy on tenterhooks princess! He didn't have long to think about it though, his eyelids were _finally_ becoming mercifully heavy.

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	5. Confession

Diana always hated monitor duty, but that night was even worse than usual. She just couldn't focus to save her soul. But if she was honest with herself, she hadn't been able to focus on _anything_ lately, not since that last mission with Bruce. Weakness was a new sensation for the Amazon and she wasn't particularly enjoying it. She shifted uncomfortably in her swivel chair, zoning out to their time in that jet together. She had been scared and focusing _so_ hard on keeping him alive and then he'd said those three words that had completely exploded the precarious equilibrium of their friendship. And though he'd been dazed with pain and drugs, there had been an earnestness and honesty in his eyes that was difficult to find in Bruce Wayne's expression under ordinary circumstances. Leave it to Bruce to need to be drugged and practically dying to finally admit the truth. But since then he'd scrupulously avoided her. And she'd followed his lead. And they hadn't talked, aside from work related stuff, for _six months._ Diana really, really missed it. She hadn't realized _just_ how much she'd enjoyed their snarky, sarcastic, teasing relationship till it was suddenly over. She'd recently heard an adage that said, "You don't know what you have until it's gone," and it certainly applied here. She had lost people before, but this had to be the hardest, seeing him every day, but it wasn't really _him_ she spoke to and worked with. Diana let out and exhausted sigh and realized it was almost 6:00 a.m. and her shift was over in five minutes. She spent them fingering a little lime green sticky note.

Bruce was exhausted. It had been a long night filled with not one, not two, but three League missions. He decided, that since it was closer he'd spend the day at the Watchtower. He'd been doing that less and less lately, because of a certain someone and a certain recent mission, but he'd just be sleeping all day anyway, so it didn't matter all that much. But that rationale fell apart pretty quickly when he saw Diana curled up on the couch in second floor lounge, sipping a cup of coffee and flipping through a magazine. Just seeing her made his heart skip a beat and his chest ache because he freaking missed her. It wasn't as though he'd exactly been getting beat up more lately on purpose, but the bond they'd built up through their little game of doctor and patient had been pleasant. Until he'd screwed everything up like an idiot and told her he loved her. Stay calm, keep walking, she'd just ignore him...

"Bruce," Busted.

"Wonder Woman," He tried to nod curtly.

"You know, we're not on duty, you can just call me Diana or whatever." She wasn't actually about to admit that she enjoyed the teasing way he called her princess.

"Alright, Diana." He turned on his heel. He could just feel she was trying to engage in something like a normal conversation and he wasn't exactly comfortable with that at the moment.

"Bruce, can we talk?" She hated the desperation in her voice.

"About what?" His voice seeped reluctance, maybe an edge of annoyance too.

"Um..." Diana was normally a very collected person, but now her world was pretty much crumbling around her ears. "Well, anything really." Somehow at that moment, the way he was scowling at her from under the cowl, the truth didn't feel like a viable answer to his question. She knew he'd raised his eyebrow even though she couldn't see it. "So, uh...how was your night?" He should have helped her out here.

"Fine."

"No injuries this time?" She smirked. The discomfort made her fall back on her old strategy of teasing.

"No."

"Well that's a relief. You know, I was thinking that if I had to bail you out one more time I was going to ask Clark for a raise because I was filling two positions in the League."

"Oh yeah?"

"MmmHmm. Founding member and Batman's personal keeper."

"Haha very funny." He said mirthlessly, but she could tell he was exerting some effort not to smile.

"Really though, how's your leg?"

"Fine." Sometimes it still hurt unbelievably.

"Can I ask you something about that night?"

"I'd rather not talk about it." She dug her manicured nails into her fingers but pressed on.

"C'mon Bruce, don't you trust me after all we've been through?"

"This isn't about trust."

"Really?"

"Absolutely. I'd just rather not talk about it." He didn't add that it was because it had been the worst night of his life for more reasons than the fact that he'd been on the point of dying.

"Fine. I'm going to ask my question anyway, weather you answer it or not. Did you mean what you said, you know, right before you passed out?"

"I don't remember saying anything particular. In fact I don't remember much at all because of all the drugs, so I probably just said a lot of random sh*t." Of course he was lying.

"Well, you said, that you loved me." She ducked her head and felt herself beginning to blush, too nervous to meet his gaze.

"That's funny."

"Oh. I was kind of hoping you would say you meant it."

"Diana, I believe it was you who gave me an extra large dose of morphine, so I don't think there was a profound meaning to anything I said." She was starting to get frustrated and stood up.

"Well Bruce, I may as well say that I was hoping you meant it because I feel the same way about you." There was a full stop, filled with disbelief on his side and embarrassment on hers.

"Then why did it take you so long to say so? Way to leave a guy hanging out to dry Diana." His voice was dark with an edge of anger. She couldn't help but laugh a little.

"Because you refused to talk to me for six months afterward, but that night I didn't want to take advantage of you in case it was just the drugs. But, now that you've just let me know that you've been thinking about it for six months too, I think you're all out of excuses." He raised his hands in surrender and and snorted.

"Fine. You win, princess. But next time don't take so d*mn long about responding to me." She grinned.

"Okay, I love you, Bruce. So that means that next time, you're up." Instead of replying, his lips crashed into hers. She was surprised at first but responded quickly by wrapping her arms around his neck and deepening the kiss. But she pulled away before it got too heated and shook her head giving Bruce a reproving look,

"You haven't earned that yet. You have to take me on a few dates before you get kisses." He rolled his eyes.

"I thought you were the one who said we were past formalities."

"Maybe as a healthcare provider and patient, but I don't exactly consider stitching you up a date. I mean, I was always the one doing all the work. Isn't it usually the man who pays for the dates here?"

"Whatever." He growled. "Where would the Princess like to go?"

"Hmm...maybe Starbucks?"

"You just finished a coffee."

"I could always go for more."

"As you wish." He smirked.

"What are you smiling about?"

"It's a movie reference, which you obviously don't get. Have you been slacking off lately?"

"Maybe." She cocked an eyebrow saucily.

"Then we'll have to watch it when we get back. Goodness knows you won't feel like sleeping after all the coffee."

"No, I'll want to stay awake and spend as much time with you as possible. After all, we have six months to make up for because _somebody_ decided to be pigheaded and stop communicating." He shoved her lightly and she squealed.

"Knock it off princess."

Finis

 **And that is a wrap! Wootzles! I never in my wildest dreams thought that I would be able to get a multi-chapter fic up this quickly, but all your lovely reviews and all the hits kept me going. The late nights and bleary eyes and re-reads and edits were all totally worth it. Special thanks to PrinceWayne and my nameless friend for the lovely and motivational reviews.**

 **To reply to you Guest: THANKS SO MUCH FOR REVIEWING EVERY BLOODY CHAPTER! You honestly don't know how much this stuff means to me *sniffs and wipes tears*. I'm sorry I didn't really do the scene you wanted (with Clark or the rest of the League) but I'm definitely not as comfortable with writing those characters as I'm kinda new to this fandom. I promise I'll never stop writing (something or other!) but I am unfortunately going to have to take a hiatus from fanfiction starting September 15. It's a bummer I know, but life happens!**

 **Daggum it, this a monster A/N. But I think I deserve it as it is the last chapter of the fic. AND I spoiled yalls and posted two chapters today, just because I wuv you. I really need to stop. Have a great day/night, God bless!**


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